Teeny Tiny Stories

The Fox Eater

It was a bloodbath the likes our kind had never seen.

She flew into our midst, a slain dragon's head adorning her own and a gleaming diamond sword held tight in her hand. 

We didn't know.

We couldn't see.

The wrath she held for our kind was boundless. 

And we were but foolish children frolicking in her forbidden fields.

We greeted her with gifts found from secret places within the earth.

We danced and skittered around her feet, asking her to join us and play.

But she made not a single movement. Not a single sound. 

The mask of her own kind hiding her true intentions from us. 

She lifted that gruesome sword.

Inevitably...

Inescapably...

And struck, felling three of us with a single stroke.

And she did not stop.

None of us, no not even our strongest and bravest could resist her rage. 

It burned and so did we. Our red furs ablaze with the cruel tongues of flame. 

There was only one thing she feared. One thing she could not slay.

The light that fell from the sky burned brighter than her sword of fire.

It was the one thing that could save us.

But it came unbidden, and did not answer to the call of anyone. 

We waited, hiding in the ground soaked in the blood of our own.

Waiting for that horrific night to pass.

For the warm light of the sun to rise once more.

But it did not come, for even the sun hid from her fury.

Then the pure light came.

Slowly, silently.

Illuminating the carnage she had wrought.

Bathed in its radiance she fled.

She blindly fought to seek shelter from pure fire that outshone her own.

And in its luminosity she burned. For the one thing she could not kill was the light that fell from the heavens. 

When the light faded, and we could see with sight again, for we could see with more than eyes alone, all that was left was a pile of ash that blew away with the wind.

And that sword.

That horrid, unholy sword.

A young boy. 

Braver than any among us.

When all the rest would not draw near it, he took that sword and buried it deep within the earth.

His ashes mixing with the dirt that sealed away that abominable weapon.

And we few that remain. 

We who would not fall that day.

We stay and tell that bloodstained tale.

For though she of the fortress has been vanquished, her sword remains.

Untouched by light.

Unseen by eyes. 

And thirsting for our lives.

We still fear that terrible sword.

That which she called...

The Fox Eater.

Note: I dunno what to call this, a poem or something, but have it anyway.
I mean it's literally about Minecraft.....

Anyway it's 1am, I'm hearing voices, and I have a party tomorrow. Nighty night ya'll.